


The Soldier's Winter

by DinerGuy



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Please Don't Kill Me, Suspense, Tragedy, Whump, Wyatt Logan needs a hug, all the feels, and there are character deaths except not main charries so i didn't think the warning really applied, speculative fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/pseuds/DinerGuy
Summary: The text was real; Jessica’s really alive. But while Wyatt’s still coming to grips with his new reality, he suddenly finds himself at the mercy of Rittenhouse—who will stop at nothing to learn the location of the rest of the team and the Lifeboat. There’s more at stake than ever before… but can Wyatt hold out against torture with his wife in danger? And are things really as they seem, or is there a deeper plan in play?





	The Soldier's Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Speculative fic set directly after the events of season 2, episode 3: "Hollywoodland." I'm sure episode 4 will totally blow this out of the water, but I had it in my head and wanted to write it before canon sinks it.
> 
> Disclaimer is the same as always. I don't own it, and this is just for entertainment purposes. And those of you familiar with the deleted scenes released from season 1 will recognize a bit of the dialogue within, so I have to admit that I don't own that either. (You should know what it is. If not, go YouTube the deleted scenes; they're worth watching either way!)
> 
> Also, yes, I did give myself terrible feels while I was writing this, thank you very much.
> 
> Unbetaed, but I do blame frankie_mcstein for egging my plot bunny along. And also truthtakestime and Marlab for being the rest of my cheer squad. I blame you all (but I also appreciate the encouragement, because otherwise, this might never have gotten done)!

Wyatt stands in the middle of the bar, his stomach flopping like a fish on a line as he watches the woman behind the counter.

It can’t really be her. There’s no way.

They had found her body. He had buried her. He had _mourned_ her.

It had felt like a piece of him had died that night with his wife, and he had been sure he’d never get past it. How he’d wished that he had been there, that he hadn’t left her on the side of the road, that their silly argument hadn’t led to what it did. Or that he’d turned the car around and come back for her in time to save her. Instead, he’d taken his time cooling off before going back to get her, justifying it to himself that she had been the one to tell him to stop the car. That she had been the one who got out. The one who started it in the first place by acting like it was all _his_ fault. But none of that had mattered the moment he realized she was missing, nor in the two long weeks before her body was found, nor any day since.

He’d spent his days obsessed with finding the criminal responsible, only to run into brick wall after brick wall and become increasingly frustrated and desperate as the case dead-ended. Officially, it was still open, but the police didn’t have enough resources or manpower to pour into it as Wyatt wanted. The lead detective had been sympathetic every time Wyatt had talked to her about the case, but it didn’t change the fact that the cops had no leads.

Moving on had been so difficult that he simply hadn’t. Couldn’t. At times, it had felt as if he’d be stuck in an endless loop of heartbreak and rage and despair forever.

He finally managed to move on, though. Or at least, he’d thought he had. He had finally accepted there was nothing he could do to change it and done his best to move on. And he was finally in a place where he felt like he could open up and let himself love again. Lucy had… Oh no. Lucy. What is he going to tell Jessica about Lucy? And what is he going to tell Lucy about Jessica?

Even as his mind tells him there must be some mix-up, that there has to be some logical explanation for what’s happening, he knows he was somehow wrong. They were all somehow very, very wrong. The woman behind the counter is Jessica. _His_ Jessica. He would know her anywhere. Even with as much time as has passed since that night that feels like an eternity ago.

He swallows and finally manages to voice her name. “Jessica?”

At the question, she turns, and he can see by the look in her eyes she recognizes him. He can feel the blood draining from his face as he swallows again. “You’re actually here,” he breathes. He thought he’d never see her again, yet here she is. A part of him still is not convinced he isn’t imagining things—after all, how can it be her?—but he knows it is.

It’s _her._

She hugs her clipboard to her chest as she watches him, and he blinks, momentarily unsure of why she looks so uncertain. Then he realizes his mouth is hanging open; she’s probably wondering why he’s standing there looking so shocked. All she’s done is text him to ask him to pick her up from work. What must she be thinking now that he’s shown up at the bar looking like a lost puppy?

Hesitantly, Wyatt steps forward, then gives into the rush in his chest and closes the space between them. He reaches out and hugs her tightly. Having her back in his arms feels _right._ He lets out the deep breath he realizes he’s been holding in as he buries his face in her hair. When he speaks, he has to fight past the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. “You’re actually here.”

He can feel her hand shifting on his back as she returns the embrace. A hand he thought he’d never feel again. Wyatt still can’t believe this is happening.

“Wyatt?” Jessica asks. “What’s wrong?” She pulls back and puts her left hand on his shoulder. Her eyes search his, and there’s a hint of something there, but Wyatt can’t put his finger on what exactly.

Something must have happened when they’d traveled back to 1941 California earlier that day, he decides. That’s the only explanation of why she’s just now back. Maybe someone they affected in their time travels had something to do with… well, with someone or something related to Jessica or to whoever had killed her. Like when Lucy’s sister disappeared from existence after Flynn changed history at the Hindenburg. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.

Jessica raises an eyebrow, clearly worried about the expressions playing out on his face. “Wyatt, are you okay? Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” She puts a hand up on his cheek. “Come on; I’m about to take my break. Let’s go talk.” Turning, she puts her clipboard behind the counter and leans over to say something to her coworker, then she comes back around the side of the counter and grabs Wyatt’s hand. “The alley out back is always quiet.”

She takes his hand, and he follows as they weave between patrons on their way through the room. Jessica swings the door open and steps out onto the street, then leads Wyatt around the corner to the shadows between the bar and the building next to it. A few moments later, they’re well into the alley and out of earshot of those passing by on the sidewalk, and Jessica turns to face him.

Taking a deep breath, Wyatt tries to sort through his barrage of thoughts. There are so many things he wants to say, but he knows she’ll think he’s crazy if he starts talking about time travel and her having died.

She speaks before he can come up with anything, though. “Wyatt, come on now. What’s wrong? I just texted to ask if you could still pick me up after work, but then you came rushing over here so quickly… Is something the matter?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head, then again, more slowly. “No, Jess, I just wanted to see you. I missed you is all.” He leans in to kiss her cheek, but he immediately notices her stiffen slightly. He frowns and moves back to study her face. “Are you okay?”

Before she can respond, there is a screech of tires from somewhere near the entrance to the alley. Wyatt glances that way absently, a second-nature response borne of years of training. He almost turns back to Jessica right after, but then he stops and does a double-take.

A dark cargo van is heading right for them.

The alleyway where he and Jessica are currently standing seems to have been built for the purpose of servicing the businesses on either side, so it’s plenty wide enough for the van to drive down without a problem. Wyatt puts a hand on Jessica’s shoulder and gives her a push in the opposite direction of the van. He’s been in this area before, so he knows the alley opens into a side street a few yards away. If they can make it there, they can find a way to escape.

“Run!” he yells at her, and she obeys, turning to flee as he puts a hand on her back. Wyatt is right behind her, and he glances over his shoulder at the van to see it has slowed to a stop and the doors are flying open. Wyatt turns back to face forward—only to almost run into Jessica’s back as she stops in her tracks.

A redheaded woman with a gun pointed directly at Jessica’s face is stepping out of the shadows. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Long way from the hideout, aren’t we, Wyatt?”

“What?” Jessica looks from Emma to Wyatt and back again. “Wyatt, who is this?”

“An old friend,” Emma smirks. “We go back… oh, quite a ways.”

Wyatt balls his fists at his side. He can hear footsteps behind him, and even though he doesn’t dare take his eyes off of Emma, he knows it’s the driver and passenger of the van. Emma doesn’t even acknowledge them, so they must all be working together. Of course Rittenhouse would catch up with him now; he isn’t sure what they have planned for him, but if they hurt Jessica…

“Let’s go,” Emma suddenly barks, waving her gun at Wyatt. “Both of you, in the van.”

“Wyatt?” Jessica’s voice is trembling slightly as she turns from Emma.

Clenching his jaw, Wyatt glares at Emma. “If you touch her—”

“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Emma scoffs. Then she smirks and nods to someone behind Wyatt.

He starts to turn and follow her gaze, but before he can, there’s a loud _crack._ Almost immediately, his vision explodes in a flash of light, and he vaguely feels as if he’s falling.

Then everything goes dark.

* * *

“I need answers,” Denise says, striding up to where Jiya and Rufus are fixated on the monitors in front of them and typing away furiously. Just past their desks, the Lifeboat sits in the middle of the room. “Please tell me you’ve found something.”

Rufus glances over at her. “We're working on it, but it's hard to tell exactly what happened… It's weird. How'd he get a phone signal down here? I thought you’d had all cell service disabled down here once Connor… you know…”

“Went and set up a speaking arrangement after I specifically told him not to?” Denise finishes for him. “You’re right; I did. So that’s why I want to know how in the world Wyatt got a text message this afternoon. I need to know if there’s an agent I should drag in for questioning or if we should be worried Rittenhouse knows where we are.”

“It’s weird,” Jiya speaks up then, glancing up from her own screen to join the conversation. “If Rittenhouse hacked into our systems, I would be able to tell, but it’s not like anyone from the outside got in at all.” She shakes her head. “We’ve both been over the system several times, and there’s no trace of anyone getting in anywhere.”

Before the conversation can go any farther, an alarm blares through the room. Jiya and Rufus immediately zero in on their screens as the rest of the team comes running. Lucy and Mason are closely followed by Flynn, who looks curious as to what’s going on more than worried, as the others are.

“What’s going on?” Flynn asks.

“It’s our alarm for when the Mothership goes out,” Rufus supplies. “We set it up so we’d know right away but not have to have a person monitoring it 24/7.”

Lucy looks between the others. “Where have they gone now?”

“Looks like… Salem, Massachusetts,” Jiya replies. She glances up briefly, then returns her gaze to her screen. Her eyes dart over the information there. “In…”

“1692?” Lucy finishes.

With a nod, Jiya glances between Lucy and her computer. “Yeah… why?”

“The Salem Witch Hunt,” Flynn and Lucy say at the same time.

The team exchange worried glances at those words.

“Well, if that’s not scary, I don’t know what is,” Rufus says. “Not only was slavery still definitely a thing, we’re also going to show up in a way that will get us hanged for witchcraft if I so much as land in the wrong spot.” He shakes his head. “Call me crazy, but I don’t think any of this qualifies as a good idea.”

“Well, then just be careful,” Denise tells him. “Come on; we’ve started piecing together a new wardrobe department. I think we have some things that might work.”

Lucy clears her throat. “Uh, hold on. What about Wyatt? We can’t go without him!”

At that, Denise stops and turns back to face the others. None of them have begun to follow her yet. “We also can’t wait and let Rittenhouse change history just because we are down a team member.” She glances over at Flynn, who is standing just past Lucy. “Flynn will just have to go with you.”

“What?” The exclamation comes from Lucy, Rufus, Mason, and Jiya all at the same time.

“Oh come now; if I wanted to kill any of you, you’d be dead already.” Flynn grins. “You of all people should want this, Lucy. Looks like that journal of yours is finally coming true after all.”

She whirls around to fix him with a glare. “That was _not_ mine.”

“Look,” Denise interrupts, putting her hands on her hips. “We can debate this after we stop whatever Rittenhouse is up to. Lucy, Flynn, any ideas on what they’re planning to do?”

Pausing to think, Lucy shrugs. “I don’t know. A lot of people were killed as a result of hysteria over witches living among the townspeople.” She shook her head. “Twenty people were executed, and five more died in prison… Maybe Rittenhouse wants to save one of them?”

“Or kill someone else,” Flynn shrugs. “It would be the perfect time to have someone killed. Just point the town in the right direction, and history takes care of the rest for you.”

Rufus glares at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve thought of this before?”

“Okay, you three; you can work out your issues later. Right now, we need to get that Lifeboat to 1692,” Denise says. She holds up a hand to stop whatever Lucy is about to say. “I know you’re all worried about Wyatt. I am, too. Don’t worry. We’ll be working on it while you’re gone. Now come on! Let’s move!”

* * *

_“You are still investigating, right?”_

_“I got bosses, Wyatt. My bosses have bosses. And none of them are stoked I spent four hundred hours on an ice-cold case because I think the victim's husband's a nice guy.”_

_“Yeah. Sorry to bother you.”_

_“You are a nice guy, Wyatt. Stop blaming yourself for what happened. Your wife's gone. Finding her killer won't bring her back.”_

_“Unless I had a time machine.”_

“Wyatt?” A voice breaks into his memory-fueled dream, dragging him away from hazy recollections of the bar where he’d met with the lead detective on Jessica’s case.

It takes some effort, more effort than he is expecting, to drag himself back to the present. He opens his eyes, squinting at the bright light around him and against the pounding in the back of his head. As his vision adjusts to the daylight, his surroundings slowly come into focus. He’s in what looks like some sort of a warehouse—what kind, he’s not sure; it seems to have been emptied of almost everything—and he’s tied to a chair in the middle of the room. His hands are behind him, with the back of the chair between his arms and his back, and what feels like a rope is wound tightly around his wrists several times and then securely around the chair itself. When he tries to shift his feet, he realizes his ankles are tied to the legs of the chair.

“Wyatt?” The voice comes from beside him, and he freezes.

That voice. He knows that voice.

This must mean it’s not just his imagination playing tricks on him, a side effect of the blow to the head that had knocked him unconscious for… however long it had been.

This must mean it really is her—but… how?

“Jess?” He turns his head too quickly and pays for it as the room spins around him. When everything rights itself again, he takes a deep breath and then slowly looks over to his right, in the direction from which the voice came.

She returns his gaze as relief spreads across her face. “You’re okay. I was so worried you weren’t going to wake up.”

“Of course I’m okay,” he assures her quickly. “How are you? Did they hurt you?” He looks her up and down, searching for any sign their captors have done anything to her. If they have… _ohhh_ , if they have, they’re going to regret it. She appears to be okay, but his stomach clenches as he realizes it’s all his fault she’s now caught up in this mad game of Rittenhouse’s. If he’d just left well enough alone, if he hadn’t felt the need to break out of the bunker, fight his way past Agent Christopher’s guards, and run off to the bar… He hadn’t even taken the time to tell anyone what was happening.

Of course, he’d justified it then. It was easy enough to do that—for that matter, it still is. He’s seen how Christopher reacted to the others wanting to leave. Mason has already tried it on more than one occasion, and his last attempt ended in his being arrested and escorted out of a well-attended technology conference. Granted, that was more about fame and reputation than family, but Wyatt has more than enough reason to expect he won’t be allowed out, not even for Jessica. Rufus’s family thinks he died in the explosion at Mason Industries, for crying out loud, and Agent Christopher has made no effort to allow him to remedy that assumption. What else is Wyatt supposed to think besides that there’s no way he’d be allowed to investigate the text? Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

“You’re not fine,” he growls. _“This_ is not fine. Jessica, I just got you back, and now this happens… I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. For _any_ of this to happen.”

She looks at him in concern. “Wyatt, calm down. You probably have a concussion, and you’re going to just make it worse.”

“I know I sound crazy,” he begins, “but—”

Before he can continue, however, the hollow noise of a door opening echoes through the room around them. Both Wyatt and Jessica look over in the direction of the sound. Wyatt growls under his breath as Emma strides in with two men right behind her. The redhead is dressed in twenty-first-century clothes, which have actually become stranger to Wyatt lately than the various historical getups that both his team and the Rittenhouse operatives have been wearing so often.

Emma strides over to where the Logans are seated and crosses her arms as she looks down at them. “Nice to see you again, Wyatt. Glad you could join us.”

“Listen,” Wyatt says, his voice low and threatening, “whatever you have planned, you leave her out of it. She’s done nothing to you, and she knows nothing about Mason Industries.”

With a tilt of her head, Emma looks him up and down. “Then I suppose you’re going to tell me everything I want to know, and I’ll have no reason to ask her, hm?”

Wyatt’s tugging at the rope behind his back, trying to find some give he can work loose. Unfortunately, whoever tied him up seems to have done an impeccable job. “What do you want?” he snarls at Emma.

“Oh, nothing much,” she drawls. “Just the location of your team and your precious Lifeboat. Give me that, and you can both go free. I promise.” She raises both hands in a shrug.

His heart sinking, Wyatt clenches his teeth. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

Without warning, Emma suddenly steps forward the few paces between them and lands a punch on his jaw. His head snaps to the right, and he sees stars.

“Wyatt!” Jessica’s voice reaches past the ringing in his ears.

Emma flexes her fingers as she turns her hand over, then she lifts her gaze to regard the man in front of her. “Now, as I said, you can tell me everything I want to know, and this can all go away. Or…” she trails off and shrugs, “we can do this the hard way.”

Wyatt swallows. “Let Jessica go, and then we’ll talk.” He’s stalling, and Emma has to know it, but it’s his only chance. He can’t betray his team. The fate of the world is at stake. This Rittenhouse thing is as big as any war he’s ever fought. He can’t give in. Not to Emma. She’s a terrorist, plain and simple, and Wyatt can’t negotiate with her demands.

A little voice in the back of his head is trying to reason that he just got Jessica back by whatever stroke of fate changed the right portion of history. There’s no way he can be expected to be willing to lose her again. Certainly not for the sake of a time machine that was bankrolled by Rittenhouse in the first place… but then he thinks of all of the missions he’s gone on in that machine, all of the ways the rest of the team have sacrificed to save the world, and he knows he can’t do any less.

And so he fixes a stare on Emma and restates his condition, hoping to buy some time. He knows he can deal with whatever she does to him after that, but he also knows she’s not stupid. She’s going to see right through him, but he has to try. “I can tell you where the team is. They’re in a place that would be easy enough for your little army to take down, and you’d get the Lifeboat with it. But I’m not saying a word until she walks out of here, free and clear.”

“Wyatt, what’s going on?” Jessica asks. She sounds both confused and scared, and Wyatt doesn’t blame her. He can’t even imagine what she’s thinking right now—and he doesn’t know how much else has changed in this new timeline. How is he even going to start to try to explain the situation to her?

Emma smirks. “Go on, Wyatt. Tell her. Tell her how you work with a secret government team trying to destroy those trying to change the world for the better. Tell her about your secret trips and the people you’ve killed all in the name of protecting something we’re all better off without.”

His stomach sinking, Wyatt glares back at her. “I’m not betraying my team.” He can’t glance over at Jessica right now, because he knows if he sees the look on her face, he might be tempted to give in. And he can’t give in. He can’t leave the world at the mercy of an unchecked Rittenhouse.

Emma clears her throat, pulling Wyatt’s attention back to her. “I’m giving you a chance here, Wyatt. Tell me where Lucy and Rufus and the rest are hiding out. Give me them, and I’ll let you and Jessica go.” At his silence, she rolls her eyes. “Really, Wyatt, don’t make this so hard on yourself.”

“Wyatt?” Jessica asks, and something in his chest constricts at her tone. She’s afraid and unsure, and he’s the only reason she’s in this mess anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. He swallows. “But these people are terrorists. They want to destroy America. They’ve _murdered_ people, Jess. They’ve killed innocent people, and they’ll hurt many more if someone doesn’t stop them.” He looks over and meets her eyes, wishing like anything he could go back in time and save her from all of this, pleading with her to understand. “I can’t give them what they want. Someone has to stop them.”

Emma snorts. “Fine, Wyatt. Have it your way.” She shrugs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She motions to the men beside her, who wordlessly step forward.

Wyatt tenses briefly, then notices in one gut-wrenching moment of realization that the goons are moving past him. “Hey!” He desperately yanks at his bonds. “Don’t you touch her!” he yells. His voice nearly cracks with the emotion of the outburst. “Get your hands off her!”

“Wyatt!” Jessica sounds petrified.

“Emma!” he turns his fury on her. “Do whatever you want to me, but she doesn’t know anything!” He strains his wrists to move the knots even a little. There has to be some slack in the line somewhere! “Leave her alone!”

An evil smile tilts up the corners of Emma’s mouth, and she makes no effort to hide her satisfaction at Wyatt’s growing desperation. “Oh, but I couldn’t just leave her out of our fun, Wyatt,” she purrs. “Don’t worry; she’s just going to sit someplace safe while you and I have a nice chat. No need to make her see what’s about to happen, hm?”

The men untie Jessica from the chair and start for a doorway in the wall to Wyatt’s left, dragging her between them, barely seeming to notice as she struggles against their grasp.

She looks over her shoulder, her frightened gaze searching for his and latching on once their eyes meet. _“Wyatt!”_

 _“Jessica!”_ He pulls harder at the ropes, shaking in frustration and rage, but no matter how hard he struggles, he can’t break free. All he can do is watch helplessly as his wife is taken away from him. Again.

He can’t lose her now; he barely survived the first time. He doesn’t know if he can go through this again.

Emma is still standing in front of him, her arms crossed as she watches his fight. His head snaps up, and he glares at her, wishing he could rip through his bonds and strangle her right then and there.

“If you do anything—”

“Yes, yes; I know,” she says dismissively, waving a hand in the air as if she’s swatting a bothersome mosquito. “I’m quaking in my boots.” Then she steps forward and fixes her gaze firmly on him. “Now, let’s talk.”

* * *

“Hey! I found something!” Jiya exclaims, rushing into the room where Agent Christopher is talking quietly on her phone. She pulls up short when she sees the older woman is on the phone. _“Sorry,”_ she mouths.

Agent Christopher puts up a finger in acknowledgement, then returns her attention to her conversation. “Look, you lost Garcia Flynn, and that is a huge problem. I didn’t spend all that time hunting him down for you to let him just walk out of prison. I expect any updates as soon as you have them, got it?” A moment later, she nods at whatever the other person says, presses the button to end her call, and turns to Jiya. “What is it?”

“You’re going to want to see this,” Jiya says seriously. She’s still trying to process it herself, and she scrambles for the words to communicate it to anyone else. “So, I’m still trying to figure out how Wyatt got that text, but in the meantime, I was able to hack into his phone and access his messages, as well as track the GPS.” She hands her tablet to the agent. “Guess who sent him the message he got while he was talking to Lucy?”

Christopher raises her eyes from the information on the screen, disbelief written on her face. “Jessica? As in, Wyatt’s wife who died in San Diego years ago?”

“That was my reaction,” Jiya replies. “She asks if he can pick her up from work. It’s like she never went missing that night.”

The two women share a look; then a thought occurs to Jiya, and her eyes widen slightly at the implications. “But if something changed in the past to stop Jessica from dying… How do we still remember she did? We weren’t traveling when it happened, so we should remember it as if she’s been alive this whole time…”

“We’ll figure that out later,” Christopher tells her. “For now, we need to concentrate on finding Wyatt. Do we know where Jessica works?”

“Yes,” Jiya nods, “and that’s where Wyatt’s GPS puts him going after he left here. And that brings us to the next thing you should see…” She reaches over and swipes the screen of the tablet, bringing up a security video. “Look.”

When Jiya taps the screen to play the video, the time stamp in the bottom corner starts running. At first, there’s nothing to see but an empty alley, but then two figures come into view. Wyatt is immediately recognizable, and there’s a blonde woman with him. They exchange a few words, then Wyatt looks back the way they came. A moment later, Wyatt yells something, and they both turn to run, only to stop suddenly as a new figure joins them.

“Emma,” Christopher frowns.

The woman is pointing a gun at Jessica’s face, and it’s easy to see Wyatt’s immediate reaction to her appearance. A van pulls into the frame as more words are exchanged, then Emma waves her gun at Wyatt as another man comes up behind the soldier. Christopher doesn’t know who the man is exactly, but she doesn’t need to know his name. The fact that he suddenly raises his own gun and whacks Wyatt across the back of the head with it is enough to tell her everything she needs to know.

As Wyatt slumps to the ground, Christopher pauses the video on the tablet. “Please tell me we have a way to track them,” she says, holding the tablet out to return it to the younger woman—but Jiya doesn’t take it. “What’s wrong?”

Jiya swallows. She’s not sure how to explain what happens next, so she just shakes her head and reaches out to start the video again. “There’s more.”

Any confusion as to her meaning is resolved a moment later as the video keeps playing. The man who pistol-whipped Wyatt grabs the unconscious man under the arms and drags him over to the van. After keeping her weapon pointed at Jessica for just a split second longer, Emma suddenly lowers it and says something to the other woman.

Jessica smiles and says something back, then turns and strides over to the van where the side door has just been closed behind the man and Wyatt. Jessica climbs into the passenger seat as Emma takes the wheel, and they pull out of the frame.

Jiya has been watching Agent Christopher’s face as the scene plays out, and she nods slowly as the older woman looks up to meet her gaze.

“She knows them.” Christopher’s voice is low and hard. “Jessica is Rittenhouse.”

* * *

Emma buries another blow in Wyatt’s stomach, driving the air from his lungs and doubling him over as he gasps for breath. “Tell me where your team is.”

Another blow, this time to his right cheek, clouding his vision with gray.

“Last chance, Wyatt,” Emma says calmly. “Where’s your team?” When he doesn't respond, she smiles coldly. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She turns and nods at the doorway where the men had dragged Jessica minutes before Emma had started her interrogation.

“Emma!” Wyatt seethes. He hates to admit it, but he's almost at the point of begging, as much as he hates to do so. “Emma, you don’t have to do this. I'm the one you want; you don’t need to pull her into this.”

When all she does is raise an eyebrow and cross her arms, his heart drops into the pit of his stomach. He pulls again at the ropes, hoping that somehow there will be slack where there was none before. He has to get free. He has to do something. He can’t—

 _“Wyatt!”_ The scream rends the air and sends his stomach plummeting. He’d know that voice anywhere, and he doesn’t think he can bear it. But then it stops, and he catches his breath, only for his throat to clench as no other sound comes from the other room. Thoughts of what’s happening in the other room flash through his mind, and he growls as he yanks his wrists again. There must be a way out. There has to be.

Emma calmly watches him, her arms still crossed. “You can stop all of this, Wyatt. Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make them stop.”

He stares her down, his mind running through every possibility as he searches for a way to end this nightmare. He knows he can’t give up the team. If Rittenhouse finds the others, everyone will die, _and_ Rittenhouse will have the Lifeboat. There will be no one to stop them and no means to do so. Wyatt has to protect the mission at all costs, he knows that, but he also doesn’t know if he can let Jessica be hurt—or worse—for the sake of the mission.

There must be another way out. There has to be.

He’s already lost her once. He can’t do it again.

Just then, Emma starts to say something else, but the sound of a door creaking open catches her attention. Following her gaze, Wyatt sees a well-built, dark-haired man in a suit striding into the room. The newcomer crosses the short distance to Emma. He gives Wyatt a look, then leans down to whisper something in Emma’s ear. Whatever he’s saying, she isn’t happy.

Her eyes narrow as she snaps, “What? Now? I’m in the middle of something.”

The man just shrugs. “Orders,” he says. “I’m taking over here. They think it’ll be more successful to focus on him instead of using the woman.”

Wyatt swallows in relief. For as terrible as it is for him, that’s the best news he’s heard since he woke up to this nightmare. He just needs to hold out long enough for someone to find him. Knowing Agent Christopher, she started looking as soon as he broke out of the bunker. Knowing the resources she has at her disposal, it shouldn’t take very long to track him down. As long as he can keep this man busy until then, Jessica will be okay. He won’t lose her this time.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have the location by the time you’re back,” the man continues.

“Fine. You’d better,” Emma retorts, her eyes spitting fire. “And I want in on that part of the operation.” She gives Wyatt one last look, then turns on her heel and stalks to the exit.

As then the door slams behind her, the man turns to Wyatt and smiles evilly. “Now, let’s talk.”

* * *

Denise strides into the room where Mason has his nose buried in a book. She clears her throat, and he glances up. “Do you want to tell me something, Connor?” she asks. She’s doing her best to remain calm, but she wants to ream the man out for what he’s done. Did he even stop to think about the consequences of his actions before he did anything?

He sits back on the couch and puts an arm over the back of it. “Whatever do you mean?” he asks casually.

“You know very well what I mean.” She narrows her eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Before he can respond, she keeps going. “You’re upset with how I handled the tech symposium, I get that, but you didn’t have to go and put everyone else at risk just because you want to protect your reputation!”

Mason stands at that. “Now hold on just a minute—”

But Denise isn’t done. “You circumvented security measures that are there for a very good reason,” she continues, not bothering to mask the bite to her tone, “and now Wyatt—and the rest of us—are in danger because of it. We found your little back door and shut it down, hopefully before Rittenhouse discovered they could access the team’s phones and tried to track any of them. What were you thinking, Connor? Did you even stop to consider what your actions were doing to anyone else on this team? Whether you like it or not, you are a part of this team, and I expect you to start acting like it. Hopefully it’s not too late for Wyatt,” she adds.

Before Mason can reply, Jiya sticks her head in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but you said to come get you the minute I found anything.”

Denise gives Mason a long look that says their conversation is not over before turning to Jiya. “What do you have?”

“I might have found them,” Jiya says. She looks between Denise and Mason, then back again. “So I used camera footage from the area and tracked the van after it left the alley where Emma grabbed Wyatt. It took some time, but I managed to follow it to a warehouse down by the docks. It’s in an area that’s been unoccupied for some time, so it’s the perfect place if they don’t want to be seen.”

“Good work,” Denise acknowledges. “Were you able to find anything about Jessica? Where she’s been all of this time?”

With a shake of her head, Jiya sighs. “No. That’s the weird thing. According to everything I can find, Jessica Logan was murdered in San Diego. The police never found her killer, and it’s currently a cold case with no leads. I know we wouldn’t remember if that’s not how it happened at first, but…” she trails off.

“But she’s supposed to be dead according to our actual timeline,” Denise finishes. She’s as confused by the information as Jiya seems to be. Then she glances over as Mason clears his throat.

The look in his eyes says he has a theory. “If Jessica Logan is Rittenhouse,” he says, “then perhaps they staged her death in the first place. She’d accomplished whatever purpose she’d had in that particular role, and it was time for her to move on. Only Wyatt would never just let her go, so they had to make it convincing enough she could disappear with no questions asked of her and no one trying to track her down.” He shrugs at the looks the other two are giving him. “What? It was two weeks before they found her, right? I suspect that after so long it would be easy enough to pass off a body as whoever you want. Have the right people in the right places switch the DNA and fingerprint records, and presto, you have positive identification.”

He has a point, Denise admits to herself.

Jiya is nodding as well, apparently having similar thoughts. “Which is why Jessica still appeared to be dead after Wyatt changed history!”

“Right,” Mason acknowledges. “Wyatt stole the Lifeboat, went back to 1983, erased Wes Gilliam from history, but!” he raises his index finger as he makes his point, “Gilliam never killed Jessica.”

“Meaning Wyatt’s little trip didn’t affect Jessica’s fate at all,” Denise finishes. She looks between the other two members of her team. “And now she’s back because Rittenhouse is getting desperate.”

Mason nods thoughtfully. “Think about it. Rittenhouse has recently learned their bomb didn’t work as planned, and Emma was unsuccessful at eliminating them again in World War I. Plus, we _did_ just break Garcia Flynn out of jail…” He shrugged as he trailed off.

Jiya picked up the thought. “If they wanted to do something to stop us, the timing would make sense.”

“Perhaps it’s a play to get information about our location,” Mason suggests. “Or to start picking off our team one by one. Who knows? But either way, they took Wyatt alive, which means they must need something from him.”

Denise nods decisively and turns to Jiya. “All right then. Jiya, send me that address. I’ll have my people move in. Maybe we’ll even get lucky and capture a few more Rittenhouse agents while we’re at it.”

She doesn’t have to say what they’re all thinking. Unless they get Wyatt back alive, none of the rest really even matters. They all just hope they’re not too late.

* * *

Wyatt has long since lost track of time, but Emma hasn’t returned yet, although if she’s traveling to the past then who knows how long she’ll be gone. Knowing that his team would’ve followed in the Lifeboat the minute the Mothership left for another trip into history worries Wyatt more than he would have thought. Hopefully Agent Christopher or one of her men will have gone with them. Wyatt doesn’t want to imagine Lucy and Rufus trying to go on their own. His two teammates have learned a lot since that first trip, but they still need a soldier on their side.

As if that’s not enough to fill his thoughts and drive him crazy with not knowing if they’re safe, Wyatt has the current situation at hand to deal with. The idea that he’s putting Jessica in danger is still eating at him, but he’s still unwaveringly convinced he can’t tell Rittenhouse what they want to know. At risk of sounding dramatic, the fate of the world hangs in the balance. No matter how much he wants to, he knows he can’t give in.

He’s been working at his ropes, bit by bit, and they’re slowly starting to loosen. It’s nowhere near enough slack for him to slip out yet, but he just has to keep this Rittenhouse guy busy for another little while, and then he might be able to use the element of surprise in his favor. He’ll have to time it carefully, but if he can get his hands free and catch the guy off-guard, then he can get his feet free, find Jessica, and find an exit. It’s his only real plan for now, but he thinks it just might work.

In the meantime, he’s quickly learned the man in charge in Emma’s absence is extremely eager when it comes to interrogations. The good thing is he’s also easily excitable, which means Wyatt has been able to egg him on enough to keep his attention away from Jessica. She’s still in the other room, but so far, Wyatt has been able to keep the man’s focus fixed solely on himself. He’s doing his best to hold back his involuntary grunts of pain as the man lays into him, knowing Jessica must be able to hear every single thing going on in this room, just as much as Wyatt can hear anything from the other. He doesn’t want her having to endure listening to more than she has to. Unfortunately, he knows he hasn’t been as successful as he’s tried to be, and he can only hope she’s as strong as the Jessica he remembers from… before. Otherwise, he’s not sure what this will do to her.

They’ve gone round after round, and if he hadn’t had a concussion before, Wyatt knows he must have one now. Added to that, he’s positive he’s got at least one cracked rib, not to mention all of the bruising along his torso. And he’s lucky his jaw isn’t broken, although he’s got a split lip and a bruised cheekbone, if not a broken nose. There’s no way for him to take full stock of all his injuries, but at least he’s still breathing. And now, thankfully, he’s getting a chance to breathe—as shallowly and carefully as it may be—as the man steps back from raining down blows.

“Where is your team, Logan?” the man snaps, pulling a rag out of his back pocket to wipe the blood off his fists. “I’m starting to get impatient.”

Wyatt grits his teeth and twists his hands again, noticing with satisfaction when they give a little more than a moment before. “Oh, so that was you being patient, man? I was wondering why our little chat’s been so tame so far.”

“Oh, you say that now,” the Rittenhouse agent replies, “but we’ll see how soon you start singing once we really get going. Just tell me now, Logan.”

The look on his face sends a shiver of dread down Wyatt’s spine. Wyatt squares his jaw and calmly returns the man’s gaze. He’s not going to do this animal the satisfaction of backing down.

“Okay, but trust me, you’re going to wish you had just answered my questions real soon.” The man turns and gestures to a second goon who’s been standing off to the side and passively observing up until this point.

The other man nods in acknowledgment and strides forward. Wyatt can now clearly see the length of rope clenched in his hands, but then the man disappears behind his chair. Before Wyatt can turn to follow the man’s progress, that same rope snakes around his neck from behind.

“Where’s your team?” the main interrogator asks again.

Wyatt doesn’t have a chance to respond before the rope tightens and his air supply is cut off. He gasps and chokes, his fists tightening reflexively as his airway is cut off. Then a moment later, just as his vision starts to gray, the loop of rope loosens and air floods his lungs again.

“Where’s your team?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t—”

This time, the rope keeps on tightening.

He’s not sure if it’s a hallucination or not, but one of the last things he sees is Jessica’s worried face peering out from the far doorway.

Then he hears the interrogator yelling about going too far, and then the room fades to black and he loses consciousness.

* * *

The darkness is complete and welcoming, and Wyatt almost doesn’t want to come out of it. The last thing he remembers is choking desperately for air but not being able to get anything to his lungs. Now as the fog in his head presses down again, he fights against the desire just to give in and not wake up ever again. With his eyes still closed, he takes a tentative breath, wincing at the pain that shoots through his throat and side at the movement. But at least he can breathe now. That’s more than he could say before.

“Wyatt?” The quiet voice in his ear makes him jump slightly. It sounds like Jessica, but he knows it can’t be. She’s dead. She died in San Diego.

There’s a hand on his cheek now, soft and warm, and he leans into it.

“Wyatt?” The voice comes again, pleading now, and he knows it’s Jessica. It can’t be, but it is. “Wyatt, I’m so sorry. Please wake up,” she says, her voice breaking on the last words.

He blinks slowly, looking around in confusion as things come into view. The warehouse ceiling is above him, and he’s flat on his back on the floor. He moves to rub his aching temple and realizes his hands are free. “Jess…?” he coughs. His throat is sore as all get out. Then the memory of the interrogation comes rushing back to his mind. He swallows tentatively. Yep, his throat is definitely bruised; he supposes it could have been worse though.

“Shh,” she cautions quietly. “Can you walk?”

He nods and allows her to help him to his feet. When he’s finally upright, he sways unsteadily for a moment, but then, through sheer willpower, regains his balance. He’s going to get Jessica out of here, and then he’ll worry about whatever his physical condition might be.

Taking a step forward, he groans as fire immediately shoots through his side, then he sucks in a shallow breath. “I’m okay,” he waves off her concern.

She has to grab his elbow when his knees nearly give out on his next step. “Wyatt, you’re not fine,” she says, then adds in a low voice, “I’m sorry.”

Something in her voice causes him to pause. “What…?”

“Let’s just go,” she says. “Please. I’ll explain everything; I promise.”

As much as he wants to find out what’s going on right then and there, he knows she has a point. He’s not sure how long he can keep himself on his feet; the sooner they get out, the better.

They make it halfway to the door before footsteps echo on the concrete behind them.

“Going somewhere?” Wyatt recognizes the voice of the man who’d been interrogating him before he even sees the guy’s face. The man comes through the far doorway and moves in front of where Wyatt and Jessica have paused in the middle of the room.

Knowing they don’t have much time, Wyatt takes a breath and gathers his strength to try to rush the man. But then the second Rittenhouse goon comes out to stand a few yards away from his partner. Wyatt knows he can’t take them both, not in his condition, and especially not with the way they’re both situated. And definitely not with the guns they each have pointed at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man snaps.

Wyatt blinks. “Um, well, as much as I appreciate your hospitality—”

“Not you!” comes the sharp reply. The man’s gaze flicks over to Jessica. “You know we’re not done with him yet. What are you thinking?”

She takes a deep breath, and Wyatt blinks. He’s still trying to fully shake the fog that’s pressing in alongside his pounding headache, but he can’t quite add up what’s happening here.

“Listen,” she begins, “Stanley, I—”

“What? You knew the plan as well as any of us!” he shouts.

Wyatt winces at the sharp flare of his headache at the raised voices. “Can someone explain what’s going on?” he asks hoarsely. He’s stalling, yes, but he’s also genuinely confused. Why is this Rittenhouse agent on such friendly terms with his wife? And for that matter, why does Jessica seem more worried than frightened anymore?

The Rittenhouse goons both fix him with smug looks that Wyatt’s quite sure he doesn’t like.

“Ohhh, right,” the one in charge—the one Jessica called Stanley—smirks. “You wanna know how your wife is still alive? It wasn’t hard.” The man puffs out his chest proudly, and Wyatt frowns. “We were already traveling to Darlington to see that racecar driver. Emma just made a side trip first to some of our other guys in the 1950s. They made sure someone would be around that night to save your wife.”

Wyatt clenches his fists at his sides. “So it wasn’t that I had the wrong name. You just stopped Gilliam before I did.”

“Gilliam? Nah.” The man tilts his head in a shrug. “Pretty sure that’s the guy the cops suspected, but he wasn’t the one we stopped that night. We just _might_ have affected that investigation; you know, seeing as how we killed the guy and all that.” The man grins again. “You can’t be too mad; you’d’ve done the same if you’d been around.”

Jessica stiffens beside him, and Wyatt turns to look at her in confusion. She’d survived the attack, but what has she been doing all of these years? Didn’t she see the news when he’d reported her missing? “So if you saved her,” he says, “how did the police find her body two weeks later?” He can feel the emotions crowding his throat as he speaks.

“Easy enough to fake a positive ID with the right connections,’’ the man replies simply. “And then she saw the worthiness of our cause—just took the right amount of convincing.”

Something about the man’s choice of words combined with the look on Jessica’s face doesn’t sit right with Wyatt. But before he can fully process it all, Jessica shifts beside him and pulls a pistol from her waistband.

“Drop your guns,” she orders, looking from one man to the other. “Now.” She keeps her left arm around Wyatt’s back as she waves her weapon again.

“Come on, Jessica,” Stanley’s voice is low and threatening. “You’re one of us. You don’t want to do this.”

She chuckles harshly. “I _was_ one of you, you mean. After you brainwashed me for all of those months. And to think I believed all of your lies…”

“Told you having her stay while you questioned him was a bad idea,” the other man snorts. “Must’ve gotten to her.”

Jessica takes a step forward and shifts her aim back toward Stanley. “Drop your guns and move aside. I mean it.”

“What if we just shoot you instead?” Stanley asks. He smirks. “You can take one of us, but I guarantee you can’t take us both before you go down. Now drop _your_ gun, or we drop you—and your precious husband. I don’t want to shoot him, but I will.”

The room is starting to swim around Wyatt. Between the pain flaring through his head and the conversation he’s trying to follow, it’s all starting to overwhelm him. He knows he has to do something, but he can’t focus long enough to decide what.

Then there’s a sudden, extremely loud noise off to his right, and the room fills with a flash of light. Jessica’s hand disappears from his back, and Wyatt sways on his feet for the briefest of moments before dropping to his hands and knees. Reeling from the newest intrusion on his senses and too disoriented to focus past the thought of _‘flashbang,’_ Wyatt can only hope it’s Agent Christopher’s team moving in.

He squints past the disorientation and can barely make out Stanley’s form as the man aims his weapon directly at Wyatt. Wyatt knows he can’t hope to move quickly enough to avoid the Rittenhouse muscle’s bullet, and he glances to his right to look for Jessica.

And then everything seems to happen at once.

The door caves inward in a thunderous explosion of sound.

Stanley’s face hardens, and his finger tightens on the trigger.

And in a flash, before Wyatt can turn his focus to her one last time, Jessica dives in front of him and fires her own weapon.

Her bullet catches Stanley in the shoulder, and he stumbles back a step, even as she sways on her feet and then silently crumples to the floor.

“No!” Wyatt pushes to his feet and dives forward as Stanley recovers and raises his gun again. He has to force himself not to stop to look at his wife’s still form but instead reach for the gun lying beside her hand.

His grasp closes around the pistol, and he points and shoots without hesitation. He drops Stanley and then turns his gun on the second goon, who has just squeezed off his own shot. Wyatt barely notices the round that tears through his side as he repeatedly fires until the man goes down. It takes him a moment to process that the threat has finally been eliminated, then he drops the gun and stumbles as he falls to his knees.

This can’t be happening.

It’s as though someone’s punched him in the gut yet again. Wyatt’s breath catches in his throat as he reaches for Jessica. “No, no, no. Jessica? Jess?” Ignoring the SWAT team that’s now storming into the warehouse, he pulls her head onto his lap, cradling her as he gently brushes blonde strands from her face. “Come on, Jessica. Open your eyes.”

He finds the bullet wound a moment later, in the left side of her chest, and he presses his hand against it. Dark blood oozes through his fingers, and he gasps in a shaky breath as the severity of the situation hits him. His hand moves back to her cheek, smearing red along her skin as he rubs his thumb along her jaw. “Jessica? Come on, please. Please, Jess. Sweetheart, come on; open your eyes.”

She coughs then, her voice sounding rough and wet, and the night at the Hindenburg suddenly flashes to his memory. The fire, Flynn, Kate… That night, he’d felt as if he were losing Jessica all over again, and now he really is.

“Wyatt?” she asks weakly, her eyes fluttering open. “Wy—” Her cough interrupts whatever she’s about to say, and now flecks of blood speckle her lips.

He shakes his head, and the room blurs around him as his eyes begin to fill with moisture. “Shhh. Don’t… don’t talk, Jess.” He bites his lower lip as he presses his fist back to her wound, the slick blood continuing to slide through his fingers and serve as a constant reminder that he’s not doing enough. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get help, okay?” His own voice is still rough and cracks on his question. “It’s going to be okay,” he repeats.

“No…” She takes a deep breath and gives her own shake of her head. “No, Wyatt… it’s… I know…” Closing her eyes, she takes in a shuddering breath, then opens them again and looks directly up into his. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. For… for everything. This… this is all my fault.”

“Shh,” he says again, shaking his head harder. He rubs at the tears threatening to spill over, feeling the blood smudge on his cheek but not caring. “No, don’t say that.” He glances up desperately at the agents who have now apparently cleared the warehouse. One of them is barking orders into a radio, while another jogs over to where Wyatt and Jessica are on the ground.

The man crouches down next to them and presses a cloth against Jessica’s wound. Wyatt doesn’t know where the man got it, and right then, he doesn’t care.

He turns his attention back to Jessica’s face. “See, help’s here already.” His emotions seem to catch in his throat, and he sniffs. “You’re gonna be okay.”

She coughs again and reaches up to touch his cheek. “I didn’t know what else to do, Wyatt… They… they were convincing. They…” She trails off, and he can see her throat bob as she swallows hard. Then she looks straight into his eyes. “I… I love you, babe. Don’t… don’t ever forget that.”

“I… love you, too,” he whispers. “I love you. I always have.”

She smiles faintly, then, slowly, her hand sags from where it’s been pressed against his cheek. It falls to her side, and her eyes slowly flutter as they start to slide closed.

“No. No. Jess! Jess, look at me!” Wyatt rubs his hand over her forehead, running his fingers through her hair as he leans over. “Jess… come on. Open your eyes.”

There’s no response, and he chokes out a sob. “No…” He can feel the tears escaping, but he doesn’t care. His gaze is fixed on her face, eyes closed almost as if she’s sleeping, the red streaks along her cheek and jaw standing out starkly against her ashen skin. “Jess…” He leans over and presses his forehead against hers.

There’s movement at his elbow, but he doesn’t look. He knows exactly what’s happened, and he’s not going to snap his head up and yell at the agent next to him. Jessica’s gone. Again. For real this time. He doesn’t think he can take it.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there before the sound of someone clearing their throat comes from beside him.

“Wyatt.”

The sudden sound of the familiar voice startles Wyatt into raising his head to glance over at its owner. Agent Christopher’s solemn gaze searches his. Her pained expression is soft and sympathetic as she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Wyatt, come on. You need a doctor.”

“No,” he chokes out the word, shaking his head. “No, leave me alone.”

When it comes again, her voice is still soft but sterner. “Wyatt, you’re bleeding, and I don’t like the look of that head wound.”

He blinks as he absently glances over to where the armored agent had been trying to tend to Jessica’s wound. No one is there anymore, and only the bloody cloth lying on her chest tells the tale that someone had been there.

Wyatt takes a shuddering breath, wincing as the pain starts to register with his nerve endings. It’s still dull, and he knows the shock is keeping him from fully realizing the extent of his injuries. But honestly, he doesn’t care right now. “No,” he tells her again. “I’m fine.”

“Wyatt Logan,” Agent Christopher says firmly, in her no-nonsense, commanding officer voice, “you need medical attention. That’s an order.” Then her tone softens. “We’ll take care of Jessica. I’m sorry, Wyatt.”

He swallows and then nods slowly, and Agent Christopher reaches over and shifts Jessica’s head so Wyatt can scoot backward a few inches. Then she softly lowers the other woman back down to the ground and grabs a cloth of some sort from beside where she is kneeling beside the Logans. She gently covers Jessica’s face, then reaches over and carefully helps Wyatt to his feet.

The room’s spinning again, but Wyatt barely notices. He lets Christopher lead him, stumbling, over to the doorway of the warehouse. Outside, it’s nighttime, and the darkness is illuminated with strobing red and blue and white lights. It all starts to blur together, and Wyatt barely notices as hands against his shoulders lower him to a seat on one of the waiting vehicles.

Then there are more hands poking and prodding at him, and someone’s in his face asking him questions, but he just stares straight ahead. He tries to focus, he really does, but he can’t. Then someone lifts his shirt and starts doing something to the bullet wound in his side, and he starts to suck in a pained breath—and that’s when everything turns upside down and fades to black.

* * *

When Wyatt awakes again, he’s in a dim room. The lights and sirens are gone, replaced by a soft beeping from somewhere off to his right.

He shifts and something tugs at the top of his hand. Glancing down, he notices the IV taped in place, the line for it snaking up and off to a machine beside him. He clears his throat hoarsely, and there’s a sudden shifting on his other side. He looks over to his left, where his gaze lands on Lucy.

She sits up from the chair where she’s been curled up, probably sleeping until his movement woke her. “Wyatt?” she asks softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Um…” His voice cracks, and he coughs again.

“Here,” she says, reaching for something out of his line of sight. When she pulls a cup into view, he gladly accepts the ice chips from the spoon in her hand.

As they melt down his throat, she sets the cup to the side and clears her throat. “I should go get the doctor…” she begins.

“How… how long…?”

She smiles, interpreting his halting question. “You’ve been out of it since your surgery yesterday,” she tells him gently. “I… we were worried, Wyatt. They weren’t sure you were going to pull through at first.” Her expression grows pained, and she reaches forward. “Wyatt, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” Lucy whispers, tucking her hand into his. “I wish…” She trails off and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. “I wish I could have been here for you.”

He smiles faintly as he rubs his thumb over the top of her hand. “You’re here now.”

A smile plays on her lips as she ducks her head, then she slowly pulls her hand from his. She stands, then leans over and kisses his forehead. “And I’m not going anywhere,” she assures him.

As she turns for the door, Wyatt closes his eyes and leans back against the pillows. He swallows, feeling the pain tugging at his heart as he remembers everything that had played out in the warehouse. It’s going to take him some time to work through it all, and he honestly doesn’t know how he’s going to get past it.

Then he lets out a breath and allows himself to relax. He’ll get through it just like he did before, except now he’ll have a team that’s become like family at his side. It’s going to take some time, but he knows one thing: however long this road’s going to be, at the end of the day, he’s going to be okay.


End file.
